The duke helped Char into her cloak. “Thank you, Gavin,” she said.
He squeezed her shoulders. “You finally said it.” His voice was close to her ear. “It was not that difficult, was it?”
She tilted her head to him. Their lips were inches apart. “No, it was not.”
“Good. I may not be able to wait for your aunt to return.”
It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him that he needn’t wait. She could answer for herself, but she held back. She had done too many impulsive things over the past weeks. The time had come to be wise.
The ride back to Mulberry Street happened quickly enough. Lady Baldwin thanked His Grace for his hospitality. To Char, she said, “I’ll step in and give the two of you a moment to say good night.”
So, here she was, once again on the step with a gentleman.
“That was kind of her,” Gavin said.
“She can be thoughtful,” Char agreed teasingly.
“It gives me a moment to do this.”
He was going to kiss her. She knew the thought had been on his mind ever since that moment with her cloak. He leaned toward her—and Char found it took all her will to let him come closer and not turn away. It was the strangest emotion. He was handsome and honest and everything Jack wasn’t.
His lips pressed against hers.
Her first kiss.
Her back tightened. She held her breath, and fought the urge to jerk back. She wasn’t repulsed. She had no feeling at all. It was as if she was kissing her aunt’s cheek. She felt affection but didn’t experience the overwhelming feelings lauded by poets.
What a disappointment.
Apparently, he’d liked it.
He took his time breaking the kiss. “Thank you for that.”
Char nodded. She opened the door. “Good night.”
She didn’t want to give him the impression she was running but she did need to escape.
“Wait,” he said. “May I see you on the morrow?”
“Yes,” she answered, because she didn’t know what else to say. She gave him a wave of her fingers and shut the door.
Lady Baldwin smiled sleepily at her. “Nice evening. I think you have him.”
“Possibly. I’m tired. Do you need anything? I’m ready for my bed.”
“I am as well. Sarah will be home late?”
“There was a rehearsal tonight. I don’t know when she planned to return. She may already be in bed.”
“Then I shall be quiet upstairs.”
Char locked the door and lit candles for herself and Lady Baldwin.
Upstairs, in the sanctuary of her room, she threw off her cloak, tossing it on the edge of her bed. She then sank down on top of it, burying her face in her hands, and the anger she’d felt earlier returned full force.
Damn Jack Whitridge.
How dare he leave without saying a word to her? Or did he think those words they had shared the night before over Leo’s hat constituted meaningful conversation? And what had gone wrong?
